


Bindings: The First Look

by lesbianettes



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: AU, Art AU, Bondage, M/M, Model AU, Modeling, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nude Modeling, Past Abuse, Pining, Shibari, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianettes/pseuds/lesbianettes
Summary: Crockett is a model, Jimmy is a shibari artist, and they work together for the first time.
Relationships: James "Jimmy" Lanik/Crockett Marcel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Bindings: The First Look

This isn’t the first job Crockett has taken for shibari. In fact, it’s not the second, or even the twenty second, as a matter of fact. He started off in Milan, but one particular outfit based around thick netting apparently caught the eye of the industry. By now, it’s what he’s known for. While it doesn’t come with as much renown or money as the fashion shows did, he finds a particular kind of peace and beauty in this. There is no demand for him to pose. No, the artist ties their knots and photographs him in his almost meditative state, and then he’s left with little indents on his skin while he stumbles his way home. Shibari has an intimacy to it, he knows that, but it feels so much like a transaction in most gigs. He allows it anyways. 

Today’s session is with a new artist, one he hasn’t worked with before- James Lanik. Crockett spent the night before looking through his work, which was every bit as complex and beautiful as his agent promised, and it leaves him with the distinct impression that at least seven of the eight hours he was booked for are going to be spent weaving those intricate designs around his body. He’ll probably have to ask his agent to send Ava to pick him up because he’ll be so relaxed by the end of it he can’t tell up from down. 

He’s almost excited when he enters the studio, ready to see what will become of him today. It’s clear that Lanik doesn’t take his work lightly, and puts so much time and detail into it that every photo seems to have new parts to it when Crockett reexamines them. He takes a sip of water just in case Lanik turns out to be the sort who forgets Crockett is a person who needs it. Some artists are like that. It’s not malicious, but in the process of art, it’s easy for him to become as much of an object as the rope around his body, and the bindings often mean he’s unable to lift the bottle to his mouth without help.

Lanik is already there, sorting through a few bins of rope, and his smile is surprisingly handsome. Most of these artists turn out to be bland people, physically- not that Crockett is judging them- but Lanik is around his age, with bright blue-green eyes and the sort of smile that sets him at ease right away. 

“You must be Crockett,” he says, abandoning his ropes for a moment. “I’m James, but you can call me Jimmy. It’s nice to meet you.”

When they shake hands, his palm is rough with callouses and his grip sure.

“I chose a few shades I think might suit you beforehand based on your photos, but I wanted to meet with you in person before I settled on one. You can sit down, for now, text or whatever it is you want.”

Crockett takes the indicated chair, cushioned and comfortable, and holds out his arm. This part he’s more than familiar with. Usually, it means two or possibly three distinct colors, but Jimmy pulls out about a dozen thin lengths of rope that seem to be varying shades of the same jewel-toned gold. Some lean more orange, others a bit more green, but the shades are all similar enough that some he can’t really tell apart. Jimmy apparently can, though, and begins slowly eliminating them until he’s left with two lengths of rope that seem completely identical. 

“Do you have a preference?” 

With an awkward laugh, Crockett shrugs. “I don’t really see a difference.”

Jimmy smiles and decides on one, then carefully puts the bins of other colors away until he’s just left with the one he’s chosen. It looks like they’re going to get started. Crockett stands up to shed his robe while Jimmy gets his notebook, and is surprised at the way the sketch is shown to him for approval- these artists never really care for the model’s opinion. 

“I thought the pattern would suit your frame,” he explains, gesturing over the spider web-like pattern penciled in over a sketch of a back. “You have good musculature, but you’re not overly-bulky, so I think this would emphasize that you’re strong but delicate. As for the front, I was thinking a simple harness that would sit in the divots of your muscles. Oh, and what are your preferences on suspension?”

“Isn’t that a given?”

He shakes his head and gives Crockett this almost confused look. “I mean, most models are, and it’s common in the art form, but not everybody enjoys or can emotionally handle suspension, certainly not every day.” He tilts his head just a little. “Have you never been asked this before?”

“No.”

It doesn’t seem like the right answer, but Jimmy doesn’t call him out for it, and murmurs something about how there won’t be anything like that today anyhow. Instead, he pulls a couple water bottles from a mini fridge and sets them on the counter. He takes Crockett’s robe and hangs it up. And strangest of all, he reclines the armchair and gestures toward it. 

“Go ahead and sit back down and we can get started. This’ll be easier on your knees than the floor. Let me know if you get hungry or thirsty, or if anything starts to hurt or get uncomfortable.”

Yet again, Jimmy seems to give more care to him before he’s even begun than artists have for entire sessions. One in particular was rather cruel for a two day booking- it was a photography and display event, and while he gave Crockett water a couple times, he wound up falling asleep in the ropes midway through the exhibition, hungry and thirsty and tired, and with pinched nerves come the unbinding that still sting sometimes. It seems obvious now that Jimmy would never, ever do that.

Crockett doesn’t verbalize any of that, instead getting into a comfortable seated position on the chair and waiting for Jimmy to begin. The first curl of the rope around his chest is loose, and Crockett is surprised at the way it remains so; it’s left lax against his body, just firm enough to stay put while not being tight enough to dig deep into his skin. The yellow does look good, he must admit. He shuts his eyes to the way Jimmy’s hands brush his body as often as the soft nylon (much preferable to the “traditional” hemp), intending to relax, but the next thing he knows, a calloused palm presses against his cheek and his lashes flutter a dozen times against his cheeks before he really finds awareness in the beauty of Jimmy’s ocean eyes. 

“It’s time for a water break, sorry to wake you.”

He hums and shifts, ready to reach for the water when he realizes his arms are bound behind his back. Right as he’s about to ask why wake him when he can’t move, Jimmy holds out the water bottle so the rim just barely touches his bottom lip.

“Thank you,” Crockett says. 

Jimmy carefully steadies his head for him while he tips the bottle, not just making sure he’s hydrated but taking care of him in a deceptively intimate way. Crockett actually has to remind himself this is simply a professional shoot, and Jimmy happens to care about his model’s wellbeing more than most artists. The cold water is a balm to his dry throat, to his dry soul, and he almost sighs in disappointment when the bottle is empty. 

“We’re around hour four, I’m working on your chest and back still.” It seems Jimmy was thirsty too, as Crockett is treated to the sight of his flexed biceps while he drains a water bottle of his own before continuing. “How’re you feeling? Anything hurt or pinch? Do you want something to eat?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

It’s still a couple minutes before he goes back to his work, picking up the ends and weaving them around Crockett’s body. It’s clear where the pressure points wind up- his waist, where it can’t compress his lungs. His upper arms, so it doesn’t put too much stress on joints. It’s tender. He feels held, not restrained. Looked after. It’s strange, but in the best kind of way, which is why he felt safe enough to fall asleep for the first half of the booking. This time he makes the effort to stay awake. Jimmy is out of view as much as he is in, but Crockett watches him when he can to observe his handsome concentration and the capable way he handles the rope. He’s beautiful. Crockett thinks, briefly, that he ought to be a model as well. But then again, as a full time model he wouldn’t be able to make such beautiful artwork. 

He falls into a nearly meditative state this time, near sleep but far enough to be alert when Jimmy stands up and stretches his muscles in a way that tells Crockett he’s finished his work. By now his legs are pinned in a frog-tie, pulled into their separation by connection to his rope harness, leaving him feeling vulnerable in contrast to how safe Jimmy makes him. 

“Let me help you onto the floor? I know it’s hardwood, but it’s just for the pictures, and if it gets uncomfortable we’ll take a break.”

“I’ll be dead weight.”

Jimmy waves his hand dismissively. “I can take it, don’t worry.”

And then he does. He lifts Crockett up like he weighs next to nothing, and sets him down gently on the floor of the studio, just far enough away from the furniture to keep it out of the shot when Jimmy picks up his camera. Crockett settles into the position a bit more, letting his legs spread that extra inch given by the rope, and arches his back slightly into the tug of the ropes. For all that he’s had bad experiences with artists, he knows how to properly show off what they’ve done in a way that few others manage. 

“Stunning,” Jimmy says from behind his camera. 

The actual photography portion takes around half an hour to complete, and then it’s done. A glance at the clock shows they still have about an hour left on the booking, so he means to state the no-refund policy on leftover time, but Jimmy surprises him again by beginning to unwind the ropes and massaging anywhere that could have become a bit stiff in all this time. He shrugs his shoulders to work out their tension and helps with his legs before standing up unsteadily and reaching for his robe. Surprisingly, Jimmy helps him put it on. Kind artists are often even a little too kind. 

Next, Jimmy passes him a fresh water bottle and begins putting his things away while Crockett relaxes. “After touch-up, I’ll send your agent the photos for your approval.” He dims the hot studio lights to something warm and gentle as well. “We finished up early, do you need me to call a cab for you?”

“You still get charged for the full eight, even if I leave.”

“I know. Just- I know some people like to head straight home, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to stick around just for the hell of it.”

With that sentence, Crockett is completely gone for him.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @neworleansspecial, au tag #bind!au, reqs open on tumblr


End file.
